The first thing I noticed was the men. They lounged on chairs with a book in hand, sipped wine at the bar, and stood by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. No, this wasn’t one of my more PG-rated sexual fantasies; I was at the launch of a book club where everyone was single.
From the moment my Instagram algorithm alerted me to this event – which it did repeatedly, for weeks on end – I was in. I am a self-confessed book obsessive, as well as a romantic who has watched Notting Hill too many times, and finding someone with the same taste in books feels like shorthand for finding someone with the same outlook on life. I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking to share his copy of One Day.
